A Series Of Observations
by furygrrl
Summary: Can a few simple, random observations change your perception of someone? Jeance, minor Kurtty. May be upgraded to an 'R' rating for future chapters.
1. Observing the Moth

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Archive: Just ask  
Rating: T (for now)  
Disclaimer: I own nothing

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Chapter One: Observing the Moth

Jean sighed and flipped the last page of the novel she'd been reading, finally finished. Smiling slightly, pleased with the way the story had ended, she let her head slip back against the rough bark of the oak tree she was currently sitting against, eyelids fluttering closed contentedly.

The barest wash of golden sunlight filtered through the dwindling canopy of leaves overhead, offering what little warmth could be had on the crisp autumn day, a cool breeze kissing her exposed skin and raising goosebumps in the process. She shivered beneath the sweater she wore, pulling her knees closer to her body, opening her eyes slowly.

_I wonder how much longer I have before my next class_, she thought absently, gaze flicking down to her wristwatch.

Seeing that she still had plenty of time to kill, she reached over to her knapsack and deposited her book inside, fingers going up to tuck a stray tendril of glossy hair back behind her ear from where the wind had displaced it. She leaned back against the tree, deciding to remain outside rather than wander the school's dank halls, simply enjoying the afternoon and the nearly cloudless blue sky above her head. Glancing around curiously, she took note of the various students who were doing the same, roving eyes coming to a startled stop when they came across a reclining figure only a few feet away.

His body sprawled comfortably in a pool of weak light, prone against a backdrop of leaf-strewn lawn, was Lance Alvers, hands crossed atop his chest, legs slightly bent at the knee, seemingly asleep.

_Funny, I don't remember him having the same spare as me...must be skipping again..._ she thought disapprovingly with a tiny shake of her head.

Resting her chin on her knees, she continued to observe him from afar, wondering - and not for the first time - what life must be like for someone like him.

_Someone without a real home...without security or parents that loved him..._

Disapproval melted away as a sense of sadness, of pity, began to well up deep within her as she pondered Lance's existence, and what was missing from it - what she hoped she'd never have to experience herself.

_Even sleeping, he looks so...bitter, so hard... _she thought, worrying her full lower lip between her teeth as she stared at the oblivious figure lying so near, taking in his clenched jaw and shadowed eyes.

_I always thought that Kitty would be enough to heal whatever's broken inside of him - we all saw the different person he became whenever she was around him - but now that she's with Kurt...I guess that won't be happening any time soon..._

Another soft sigh escaped her at that thought, this time tinged with regret for things that would never be.

Unlike Scott - and others who shared his opinion - she didn't believe that Lance was a terrible person - him or the other lonely boys who shared the dilapidated boarding house on the other side of town. They were simply confused, unsure, afraid, or so she continuously reminded herself.

_Growing up without the support of my own family and friends, who's to say I wouldn't have made the same choices they did...wouldn't be just as lost..._

As those words streamed through her brain, her attention was caught by the sight of a tiny white speck that fluttered into her line of sight, zigzagging madly inches above the ground, straining against the pull of the wind.

_A moth... _she realized absently, its erratic flight urging a small smile onto her lips.

She watched as it struggled forward gamely, as it rode the same breeze that rustled the dried leaves above her, as it seemed to hone in on the slumbering Lance, hovering over his face for the space of a heartbeat, before deciding to take a much needed rest.

Right on the boy's nose.

Lance was either a very light sleeper, or he'd been awake the entire time. His eyes flew open instantly at the feather light touch, his movement going unnoticed by the inquisitive creature who sat fanning its wings on its chosen perch.

Jean, green eyes widening at the strange picture she was being presented with, merely sat mute as Lance slowly began to ease himself up, waiting to see what he was going to do. When one of the boy's hands started to inch its way up to his face, Jean cringed inside, sure he was going to do the 'male' thing and squish his harmless visitor.

_Duncan, Scott, Evan...boys are all the same, they can be so cruel..._ she groaned inwardly.

_Why should Lance prove any different?_

Waiting for the deathblow that was sure to come, Jean prepared her teke, ready to flick the innocent victim to safety at the first sign of impending doom. A moment later, however, she realized that her power would be unnecessary, and the filaments of energy she'd gathered began to drain away unnoticed.

Instead of doling out final judgement, Lance gingerly extended a fingertip alongside his nose, and Jean watched, stunned, as the lazily flapping insect crawled eagerly over to the proffered digit, clinging to his hand trustingly. The leader of the Brotherhood then leaned back against the tree he'd been lying beneath, studying his new 'friend' with great interest, a half smile lightening his usually sullen face.

More than surprised by this unexpected - and uncharacteristic - display of gentleness, Jean gaped at him.

She watched, quietly amazed, as he turned the moth one way, then another, his other hand reaching out so that a trembling finger could stroke the edge of a powdery wing carefully. The insect, for its part, suffered the inspection with good grace, remaining still so that the boy could touch its silken furred body, its elegant, thread-like legs, could marvel at its subtle beauty.

Lance, enthralled with the creature he held, failed to notice his audience - allowing Jean to continue her scrutinizing.

Fleeting facial expressions spoke to her of his innocence, his gestures, of a patient kindness, and, truly for the first time, Jean was able to see a side of Lance that he kept hidden beneath the cold, cynical exterior he chose to present to the rest of the world.

The secret side that had drawn Kitty, that had encouraged her to love him, once upon a time.

Acknowledging such alien thoughts shook her, leaving her confused, making her wonder if Kitty had been right, if there was more to Lance than met the eye.

And then her serious considerations scattered as Lance went cross-eyed, attempting to get even closer to the moth, his comical visage prompting giggles to burst from her throat despite her best efforts to contain them. At the suddenness of the delighted sound, Lance jumped, startled brown eyes jerking up to meet Jean's amused gaze peeking from around her tree, his movement serving to jostle the little insect into panicked flight.

The moth, apparently miffed by its companion's rude treatment, fluttered indignantly above Lance for a few seconds, before coasting away unhurriedly on the cool air currents until it vanished from sight.

As soon as it had departed, Jean turned back to Lance, unable to quell the smile that still lingered on her face, surprised to see him glowering at her, his cheeks stained with a growing flush. Unsure as to whether he was angry with her or merely embarrassed, she opened her mouth, an apology on the tip of her tongue, when he stood up and stalked off, the scowl darkening his features easily seen even from her vantage point.

Swallowing the words she'd been about to relay, she debated going after him before catching herself.

_Like that would do any good... _she told herself with a little shake of her head, wondering briefly when the feelings of the enemy had begun to matter to her anyway.

Still, finding herself unable to look away, her eyes remained fixed on Lance's retreating form, his unruly chocolate locks trailing behind him as he walked into the wind, hands stuffed deep within his vest pockets, her steady gaze thoughtful and assessing.

And then he glanced back at her.

As if surprised to find her following him with her eyes, he paused uncertainly, brows drawing together in suspicion, before looking away and continuing on to the school's double doors, darting inside with a speed that hinted at escape, leaving a perturbed Jean staring after him.

Unsure as to what had just transpired between them - if, indeed, anything _had_ - she simply gathered up her bag and slung it across her shoulder, beginning to make her way towards the school for her next class, shrugging away her musings. She kicked at the leaves her feet encountered, watching them sail across the browning grass disinterestedly, one final thought tickling the back of her brain persistently.

_Observing a moth_, she laughed silently to herself, pushing her way through the heavy metal doors. _It would take more than that to bring the real Lance Alvers to the forefront..._

_Wouldn't it?_


	2. Different Shades of 'Grey'

Title: A Series of Observations  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rated: T for some sporadic foul language this time 'round.  
Disclaimer - Not mine. We all know this, don't we?

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Chapter Two: Different Shades of 'Grey'  


Lance Alvers, perched on top of one of the picnic tables outside the cafeteria, munched contentedly on the apple he'd stolen from Fred earlier, absently wiping at the sticky sweet juice that escaped his mouth to dribble down his chin. Blinking his dark brown eyes, he glanced around at the assembled groups of students who sat talking, eating lunches packed into neat paper bags, scanning the masses for any sign of his boarding house friends.

_Where the hell are they?_ He wondered for the third time in as many minutes, impatience threading through his body.

Taking the final bite of apple, he swiped his arm across his lips and tossed the core into the nearby trash can, his actions inadvertently bringing the seated form of Kitty Pryde into his line of sight. Surprised to see her, his gaze wavered, but despite the repeated warnings his brain screamed at him, despite the painful thudding that suddenly erupted within his chest, he kept it fixed on her slight figure.

_God, she's beautiful...so beautiful... _whispered through his head, his eyes crawling over her body, her face, devouring her image like a starving man would a meal.

She was smiling up at her friends, eyes glittering like aquamarines in the cool sunshine, chestnut ponytail dancing with every giggle that escaped her rosy pink lips. The picture she presented was enough to kick Lance's heartbeat into overtime, the crowds surrounding them beginning to fade into a hazy, murmuring backdrop of no consequence. He continued to stare, resting his recently shaved chin on his fist, content with just basking in Kitty's happy glow - even from afar.

And then, seconds later, an arm snaked around the petite girl's shoulders, drawing her into an embrace, one that she automatically melted into, breaking the spell that Lance had woven around himself.

Kurt had arrived - much to Kitty's delight, and Lance's chagrin.

She turned to gaze up at her boyfriend's youthful - if holographic - visage, bestowing a dazzling smile of greeting upon him and snuggling more securely into the circle of his arms without breaking from the conversation around her. When Kurt leaned in for a casual kiss, meeting Kitty's eager mouth with a tenderness that even Lance could see from his vantage point, the older boy felt his stomach lurch threateningly.

_Easy boy, easy...she's not with you anymore, she can do whatever the hell she wants with that German freak,_ he told himself resolutely, his jaw clenching against the rage that thundered through his body.

_You don't need her...you don't need **anyone**_.

Desperate for something to distract him from the sickening sight before him, Lance flicked his eyes away from Kitty, settling on the pair of students who shared the table with his former crush and her new guy.

_Oh lucky day,_ he thought to himself in disgust, bracing his arms against the rough wood of the table in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. _Scooter and Duncan Matthews' tramp. Figures, you get one X-geek, you get the baker's dozen._

Scott was sipping at a bottle of iced tea, nodding to something Jean was saying, eyebrows drawn together as if in consternation. The redhead, for her part, was speaking too softly for Lance to discern what she was saying, her ruby-polished nails drumming against the textbook that sat closed before her.

_Blah, it's like watching a life-sized Barbie and an ugly Ken. Bo-oring!_ Lance decided with a shake of his unruly head.

He allowed himself to observe them conversing for a few seconds longer, killing time while debating if he should go find his missing compatriots, when the tone of their discussion suddenly changed, encouraging Lance to call off his hasty exodus and remain.

"...don't know why you always have to be this way," Jean was saying, voice climbing through several octaves with every word.

"What way? All I'm saying is that we have more important things to worry about - going to some stupid party this weekend is not on the priority list," Scott replied testily, glancing around to see if anyone had taken note of Jean's raised voice.

Lance snorted and looked away, not wanting to be caught spying. The noise from the other students was nearly deafening - the only reason he was able to hear them was because he was straining to.

_Don't worry, One Eye_, Lance assured the other boy mutely. _You're not so important that anyone cares about what you or Hooters has to say_.

Sneaking his eyes back over to the pair, he saw Jean fold her arms across her ample chest, her face taking on a firm cast that seemed to say she'd brook no further argument from the other boy.

"Scott, you may rule us on the training field, but you don't dictate my life off of it. I'm going to the party, whether you approve or not," she ground out.

Lance chuckled when he saw Scott taken aback by her words.

_Why so surprised, Summers? Miss Priss can't be the belle of the ball if you ground her. Even **I** wouldn't be stupid enough to come between her and her popularity - might start her foaming at the mouth..._

"I may not..._dictate_ your life, Jean, but I can advise someone who does. Why don't we bring this issue up for the Professor to decide?" Scott replied in a clipped tone, his lips adopting a faintly mocking smile.

_Yeah, go tell your 'daddy', Scooter, you fucking pansy,_ Lance thought, his mouth twisting derisively. Deciding that he'd heard enough Brady Bunch bickering for one day, he was about to take his leave once again, when Jean's next words stopped him before he'd taken a single step.

"Too late, Scott. Kitty and I already told him about it and he's given us permission," Jean retorted with a smug smirk, satisfaction flickering through her eyes.

_Kitty?_ Lance's brain perked up when he heard the other girl's name mentioned.

"Yeah, Scott - Jean and I already, like, asked - so _there_!" the younger girl quipped, breaking from her conversation with Kurt long enough to stick her tongue out at the offending older boy.

Scott looked so crestfallen at the news that Lance was hard pressed not to jump up and laugh in his face - but Kitty was speaking again, so Lance controlled his amusement with some effort, wanting to hear what she had to say.

"Which reminds me, Jean," Kitty was saying excitedly. "Are you going to be riding up to Duncan's lake house with me and Kurt?"

"Duncan seems to think that I'm going up with him," was Jean's decidedly unenthusiastic reply.

_Trouble in paradise for the 'golden couple', what a shocker,_ Lance thought, a mocking smile playing across his face. His mirth was short lived, though, as he began mulling over the scant information Kitty had provided him about her upcoming plans.

_Kitty...Duncan's party...this weekend...could be an opportunity for me..._

"Well, I've gotta jet," Kitty announced suddenly, jumping up from the table, Kurt at her side as if they were joined at the hip. "Promised Rogue I'd meet her in the library before next period. She's, like, freaking about that test we've got in geometry. We'll go over the party details later, Jean."

"Don't count on it, Kitty. I'm still going to have a word with the Professor," Scott warned ominously by way of farewell, lips pinched together in a stern frown.

Lance felt his ire swell at Scott's tone, and the fact that the other boy was indirectly interfering with his plans - plans that would result in spending some time with Kitty, time that could be used to win her back. On the verge of tossing a random insult at Scott - something to shut him up, he was unprepared to hear Jean - of all people - beat him to it.

"Oh, just give it up, Scott," she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she waved at Kitty's retreating form. "You're being unreasonable - and starting to sound like an asshole."

_Oooh, surprise, surprise! Red's got a mouth on her. Better run for cover, Summers, this could get nasty..._ Lance snickered, scandalized, never having expected a goody-goody like Jean to even know how to swear, much less hear her do it.

Scott's face drained of colour at his teammate's comment. He stood with injured dignity, staring down at Jean who, having decided the discussion at an end, was already flipping open her book. "Maybe if you weren't being so selfish, I wouldn't have to be so hard," he muttered acidly - though almost too softly for Lance to hear.

Jean's eyes fluttered up from her reading, so wide with shock that Lance was able to see their intense green light burning from where he sat.

"I can't believe you just said that," she breathed, ivory skin flushing with the beginnings of real anger.

Scott shrugged, trying to disguise his unease behind nonchalance. "Hey, sorry if the truth hurts, but I'm tired of being painted as the bad guy in all of these situations," he replied coolly, replacing the cap on his drink and backing away from the table.

"You _jerk_! How dare you call me selfish!" Jean spat, slamming her book closed with an audible thud.

The suddenness of the movement made Lance jump and halted Scott in his tracks.

"You visit Alex in Hawaii every other month! You get to go on special training excursions with Logan, work on projects with Hank, tag along on the Professor's trips to Washington - and no one, NO ONE utters a single complaint about you missing scheduled sessions. And now you have some 'problem' with me going away for ONE weekend?" Jean demanded incredulously, half rising from her seat, tossing her hair behind her shoulders with a violent motion.

Lance - through no fault of his own, he assured himself - was transfixed by the sight of her.

_Holy shit...she's pretty hot when she's pissed..._ he realized with a start, not surprised to see Scott regarding the girl with the same speechless awe he hoped wasn't painted across his own face.

"L-look, Jean," Scott stuttered seconds later in an obvious attempt to smooth things over, but Jean interrupted him before he could finish.

"I don't want to hear it, Scott, I have to study. Kindly take your anal retentiveness and just go," she said, dismissing him as she sat back down, returning to her book.

Scott opened his mouth - then seemed to think better of what he was about to say and snapped it shut. He pivoted on his heel and prepared to walk away, muttering under his breath.

It was simply too much for Lance to resist.

Scott putting his wimpy attitude on display demanded some form of ridicule - a demand that Lance couldn't - _wouldn't_ - deny.

He surrendered to the mirth that had been building throughout Scott and Jean's argument, allowing his laughter to come forth, making sure that it was loud enough for the other boy to hear. He wanted Scott to know that he'd witnessed their little altercation, wanted to rub a little salt in the sore spot the other boy had revealed. When Scott spun around, having determined the source of the laughter, face drained of colour, Lance felt a stab of victory.

Scott looked positively furious - the boy's homicidal visage only serving to increase Lance's amusement.

"Something funny, _Alvers_?" Scott grated through clenched teeth.

"What could possibly be funny, Summers?" Lance sputtered innocently, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes at the other's macho tone.

Scott wasn't fooled by the show of mock ignorance. "I wonder how amused you'd be with my fist in your face?" he threatened, taking a step towards the chuckling boy, cheeks going crimson with rage.

"Bring it on, One Eye. I can take you no problem," Lance countered, sobering instantly at the prospect of a fight.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Scott - cut it out," Jean muttered irritably, not even bothering to look up from her book.

"Stay out of this, Jean. It doesn't concern you," Scott replied, advancing towards Lance slowly.

Lance allowed himself to briefly glance over to the redhead, wondering if she was going to join the fray and double the odds against him, only to find her still seated, her narrowed green eyes now intent on Scott.

If he hadn't been watching her, he would never have credited Jean's interference with what happened next.

Lance caught the sudden flick of her hand in Scott's direction, saw her eyes become slits of concentration - and then he heard Scott's shout of surprise.

The auburn-haired youth, - last seen striding purposefully towards Lance - had seemingly tripped over his own two feet, causing him to fall towards an approaching Duncan Matthews and his heavily laden lunch tray.

Lance blinked, watching the inevitable happen as if in slow motion.

Scott, arms windmilling, fell against Duncan.

The football star, hands full and oblivious as usual, was unable to stop or avoid Scott's momentum.

The more slender of the two invariably made the acquaintance of Duncan's cafeteria meal, though not in the manner he may have hoped for. Scott's grasping hands forced the tray up, propelling a plate of the school's daily special - a gooey, unappetizing macaroni and cheese - right into his face. Cubes of green Jell-O followed, tumbling to the ground soundlessly to be crushed beneath Scott's feet. It was those slippery, gelatinous blobs that caused him to lose his footing and sent him careening backwards, the rest of Duncan's meal in hot pursuit.

As Scott lay covered in a variety of slop, vainly trying to wipe lukewarm gunk from his face, the entire student body who'd been privy to the event, erupted in laughter - all except Duncan, of course, who howled at the loss of his lunch.

Lance, unable to do otherwise, started laughing again, looking away from the spectacle his rival had created to glance at Jean with disbelief, curious as to what her reaction would be.

Had she really intended for Scott to end up like he did? Or had it truly been an accident?

The look of superior satisfaction she was currently directing towards her housemate was enough of an answer for Lance.

Now the only question that surged to the surface of his mind was 'why'? Why had she used her telekinesis against someone that, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to be her friend? Sure, she may have been angry with Scott, but he'd been on his way over to shake things up with one of the 'bad guys'. Had she tripped Scott to keep him from fighting? Why not just hold him in place with her powers? Lance knew she could do that - he'd seen her use a similar trick against his boys on more than one occasion - or better still, why not send _him_ sprawling into Duncan instead of Scott?

He shook his head in confusion.

Staring at her with renewed interest, Lance wondered if there was more to 'Princess Jean' then she'd let on.

_Hell_, he thought to himself with something akin to grudging admiration for the redhead. _That stunt she just pulled was nearly Brotherhood caliber...almost..._

Jean's eyes suddenly strayed from Scott - who was, at that moment, rising from the mess he'd made with Duncan's reluctant assistance - and met Lance's, the impish glow radiating from their depths revealing just how truly amused she was. Lance's laughter subsided as he returned her stare, not sure if he should be sharing any kind of moment with the enemy - regardless of how funny it had been. It seemed..._abnormal_, like he was betraying some nonexistent Brotherhood Code of Ethics.

Slightly unnerved, he turned back to Dumb and Dumber, sad to discover that they were both on their way inside - one to clean up, the other to get a replacement lunch, neither wasting any time to discuss the incident with the still avidly watching student body.

Lance sighed, certain that what he'd just witnessed was going to be the solitary high point of his day.

_It's all down hill from here,_ he thought disappointedly, a smile resurfacing as he mentally replayed the episode in his head, eager to relate the details to his housemates - wherever they were.

The sound of a bell suddenly broke through his thoughts, announcing that it was time for him to return to his classes, but he paid it little mind. He had more important things than school to worry about - like his plans for Duncan's weekend soiree.

_Plans that'll see me back with Kitty..._ he assured himself excitedly, his brain already devising the means to get what he wanted.

The tables were clearing as students were called back to the grind, but new crowds with a later lunch period were replacing them, their chatter and intermittent shrieks distracting Lance from his scheming. Deciding he'd be more productive with some solitude, he rose from his seat, stretching muscles that had begun to cramp, and made a beeline for the grouping of trees that he usually napped under. On his way past Jean, he couldn't resist another sidelong glance at her, still unsure as to why she'd turned on one of her own, still curious without really knowing why.

_Should I even care about her motives? She's a bitch, and bitches do unpredictable, nasty things. That's how they get their reputation. So why am I even concerning myself?_

In spite of his thoughts, though, he looked.

He realized that she must be on her spare, as she was idly reading through her book, unconcerned about the bell, sitting cross-legged on the wooden bench while her free hand toyed absently with a strand of hair.

Unbidden, the memory of how he'd discovered her watching him the other day floated up to the forefront of his mind - watching him with an expression on her face that he hadn't been able to categorize. It hadn't been one of animosity, or irritation - emotions he was pretty familiar with. No, it had almost been...friendly? Good-natured? In any event, it had confounded him enough so that he hadn't been able to give it much thought at the time - aside from classifying it as decidedly odd. He'd later decided that she'd been spying on him, or maybe trying to skim his brain for information on the Brotherhood, or a dozen other nefarious imaginings that had him alert for the remainder of that afternoon. But since nothing had come of his worrying, he'd forgotten the incident, downgrading her voyeurism to a mere happenstance, something to ignore.

_Until now..._

Lance moved past her, but she didn't seem to notice his presence, bent over her work as she was. His brain gave a mental shrug.

_She must have screwed with Scooter to get back at him_, he told himself. _Nothing more_.

He didn't know why, but to think otherwise was just too weird, wouldn't have added up - and he was the kind of guy who liked things plain and simple, open and honest, black and white.

No shades of gray, regardless of what people believed.

As those words streamed through Lance's mind, Jean's head tilted slightly, a furtive glance of her own unintentionally catching his. Lance wasn't sure what his face registered at the moment their eyes connected, but if he went by Jean's reaction to gauge his own, he was sure he looked guilty as hell. At finding her stare returned, Jean's face blanched slightly before she looked away, the flush crawling up her neck announcing her obvious embarrassment at the situation. Lance, feeling a similar heat prickling beneath his own skin heralding his own discomfited infusion of blood, hurried off to his destination without further delay.

Attaining the partially denuded shade of his favourite oak tree, he allowed himself to look back, half apprehensive at the prospect of finding Jean staring after him - though he couldn't have said why. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized the table she'd been at was now empty. She'd taken advantage of his departure to retreat as well.

Lance shook his head in an attempt to rid his thoughts of the confusing redhead - she was proving too difficult to dissect at the moment.

But more importantly, she wasn't Kitty.

Stretching himself full length on the leaf-strewn grass, arms going behind his head, he allowed himself a full smile - Jean and her bizarre behaviour dissipating from his mind, replaced with images of the girl he adored above all others.

Kitty Pryde.

_Kitty..._ his inner voice murmured, caressing her name with reverence even within the confines of his skull. _This will be the most incredible weekend. I'll show you that leaving me was a mistake and you'll ditch that annoying fur ball_. _We'll be together...happier than before..._

His eyes slid closed under the waves of dizzying pleasure that assaulted his senses at the prospect of being able to wrap Kitty in his arms once again, the smile of a truly contented man stretching his lips wide.

_Now all I have to do is figure out how to crash Duncan's party..._


	3. Irritation and Expectation

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality  
Disclaimer: Not mine

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Chapter Three: Irritation and Expectation

The autumn breeze, pleasantly tainted with the faintest hint of wood smoke, blew cool and clean through the stand of cedars that clustered close to the lake's shoreline, drawing a hushed rustle from the dry boughs that spread skyward.

Jean inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to the bright sunshine that was nearly blinding in its intensity, and stretched her arms out to either side of her body, glad to finally be out of Duncan's cramped car. She turned back to glance at the small blue Porsche that her boyfriend had insisted on driving, and watched as he unloaded packages that had been crammed in wherever there had been room.

"Need any help?" she asked the tall blond absently before going back to studying her new surroundings.

"Nah, I think I've got it," Duncan replied, his voice muffled as he tried to speak around the groceries and overnight bags he'd piled high in his arms.

Jean nodded more to herself than to him, too intent on taking in the scene before her to give him her full attention.

Standing on a jagged outcropping of rock that loomed above the lake's surface, Jean was able to look out over the blue-black water without anything obstructing her view. She could see the small swells that the wind had whipped up further out in the bay, their foamy white tips rolling over one another as the waves raced towards the shore, only to disappear once they attained the shallows.

In the distance, giant rocks, carved from glaciers that had moved through the area hundreds of thousands of years ago, loomed up from the lake's depths to form oddly shaped islands dotted with stunted trees and bits of brush. The sunlight, dazzling to Jean's eyes, added to the picturesque setting as it poured over the water, covering the reflective surface until it seemed as if someone had cast handfuls of brilliantly sparkling diamonds haphazardly into the waves. The shimmering lights danced as they made their way to shore, transfixing her as they undulated with the tide's rocking movements.

She felt as if she could stand rooted to the spot for the next several hours, just soaking in the peaceful atmosphere, but the pair of well-muscled arms that snaked around her waist without warning shook her back to reality.

"Great view, huh?" Duncan murmured against her temple as he pressed his face into her hair.

"Yeah," Jean replied quietly, tamping down the sudden feelings of irritation that stirred at finding her meditative state invaded.

Continuing to stare out over the water as Duncan pulled her more securely into his embrace, the redhead realized with a growing sense of unease that the irritability directed at her jock boyfriend had increased of late. She sighed silently, knowing that such feelings were due to their failing relationship – a realization she had been trying to downplay since it had surfaced several weeks prior.

Oh sure, she'd given some serious thought to breaking up with Duncan, even going so far as to script the entire scenario in her mind, but for some reason, she just couldn't bring herself to give the boy his walking papers. Doing so would mean that her life would change – a disconcerting notion no matter how small those changes would prove. She'd worked hard to shape her life into something resembling normalcy, and having Duncan by her side, strange though it might seem, was a big part of that.

On another front, it would also mean that she'd finally have to accept that she'd been totally wrong about him, that her judgement of his character had totally missed the mark – a bitter pill to swallow, especially since she had, at one time, believed herself to be falling in love with him.

"You ready to go inside yet? I still haven't given you the tour." Duncan broke into her thoughts again, his breath, peppermint-scented from gum he was chewing, puffing gently against her cheek as he spoke.

After a moment of consideration, Jean pushed her concerns to the back of her mind, preferring to ignore them for the time being and simply enjoy her weekend. She pulled away from Duncan so she could turn to face him. "Sure," she finally said with a smile, taking his hand and interlacing her fingers with his. "I still need to change, and I'm getting a little cold out here anyway."

Duncan grinned and drew her towards the sprawling structure that would soon be filled with countless students from Bayville High. "Cold, huh? I know plenty of ways to warm the both of us up, if you know what I mean," he said, leering at her suggestively.

Jean rolled her eyes and tugged her hand from his grip.

Maybe breaking up with him wouldn't be so difficult after all.

* * *

Lance shot another glance at the crudely drawn map that sat on the passenger seat beside him, looking for the name of the road that would take him the rest of the way to Duncan's summer home. 

"High Point...High Point..." he muttered to himself, turning his sights back to the dirt lane his vehicle was currently speeding down.

Trees lined both sides of the road like impenetrable walls, blocking out what was left of the setting sun's rays and bathing the route in murky shadows. Dust billowed up on either side of the jeep thanks to a relatively dry month, adding to the lack of visibility and Lance's fear that he'd miss – or already had missed – the turnoff. After a few more minutes of driving, though, a weathered signpost materialized, its flaking black paint announcing that High Point was the next exit, though still a few miles away.

Lance let out a relieved breath and reached over to turn up the stereo's volume, able to once again enjoy the mixed tape Kitty had made for him when they were dating, now that he knew he wasn't lost. As his fingers unconsciously tapped along with one of the many Linkin Park songs she'd included, his brain started to sort through all of the carefully detailed plans he'd come up with to win Kitty away from her circus-freak boyfriend.

Each one had been created to fit any number of situations he might find himself in – from simply telling the perky brunette how he felt about her should he be given the opportunity, to spiriting her away from the party by force if it came down to that. And of course, each imaginary scenario ended just as Lance expected that evening to - with Kitty leaping into his arms after realizing how insane she'd been to dump him in the first place.

Turning onto the much-anticipated High Point Road, Lance could feel his excitement building.

Fortunately, it hadn't been at all difficult to snag an invite to what had already been dubbed 'the social event of the season' by the entire school. He had been prepared to simply crash the party like he was usually wont to do, but Duncan and his jock buddies, in their zeal to attract the largest crowd possible, had generously opened up the guest list, passing out hand-drawn maps to anyone and everyone.

When Lance had approached Duncan in the hall the other day for a copy of the directions, he went with reservations, expecting the jock to laugh in his face and tell him to piss off in spite of the general invite. Surprisingly, though, the football player had only hesitated for the space of a heartbeat before handing him a map.

"It's BYOB, Alvers," the blond had said with a slight frown. "The same goes for your..._friends_ if you bring 'em."

Lance had uttered something unintelligible in response and turned to leave, folding the precious piece of paper in half before stowing it away in his vest pocket, only to have Duncan grab his arm in an iron grip, effectively halting him.

"And don't plan on starting any bullshit up there, either – or you'll be sorry," Duncan had warned in a low voice, releasing Lance only when the other had nodded in unspoken agreement.

Lance shook his head in remembrance, still amused by the jock's obvious concern that the members of the Brotherhood would somehow do something to upset his little gathering.

"No worries, Matthews. The only person that needs to watch his back tonight is that loser, Kurt Wagner," he muttered to himself, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, or if he was actually seeing the twinkle of lights in the distance.

Sure enough, the clean lines of a building suddenly materialized through the thinning trees, surrounded by what looked like a parking lot to Lance's widening eyes.

_Holy shit..._ he thought as he turned off the stereo, slowing his breakneck speed to a crawl.

By the looks of it, hundreds of people had already arrived. Some could be seen through the multitude of windows the chalet-style lake house possessed, while others lounged on the spacious veranda or on the hoods of parked cars, covering every available space like a horde of invading locusts.

Lance hurriedly found a spot for his jeep and pulled in, aware that more cars were approaching from further down the road. He turned off the engine and exited the vehicle, pausing only to stretch limbs that had begun to stiffen after such a long drive, and run his fingers through his wind-tousled hair. He checked his reflection in the side mirror, and, satisfied with what he saw, began to make his way towards the house.

As he wove his way through the groups of teens that littered the path to the house, pounding music and laughing voices began to drown out the few crickets that had survived the end of summer, an uncharacteristic swell of nervousness fluttering low in his body the closer he got.

Attaining the front door, he grimly eyed the throng of students that hid his objective and dove into its midst without further ado.

_Ready or not, Kitty-Kat, here I come..._


	4. Across a Crowded Room

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality  
Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Part Four: Across a Crowded Room

Jean expertly twisted her thick red hair into a neat chignon, and secured it just above the curve of her neck with several black enameled pins. With that accomplished, she took a step back from the mirror and looked over the results with a critical eye.

She had changed out of the jeans and sweatshirt she'd arrived in, trading them for a pair of slim fitting black pants and an elegantly cut, spaghetti-strapped black tank made of layered chiffon. Both garments hugged her tightly, their tailored lines showing off the graceful curves of her athletic body to their best advantage, while the solid non-colour served to heighten the pearlescence of her alabaster skin until it fairly glowed.

Jean gave her reflection a smile of satisfaction before stepping into a pair of black heels that left her dark red toenails exposed, and exited the room that Duncan had reluctantly put aside for her use during their stay.

_Some nerve_, she thought, momentarily irked again as the door clicked shut. _Thinking that just because I'm spending the weekend we'd be sharing the same bed. In his dreams!_

Descending the stairs to the main floor, her senses were immediately assaulted by the party's full force: raised voices, the heavy beat of music, and clouds of cigarette smoke that occasionally carried the earthy, cloying smell of drifting pot fumes. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Jean made her way through the crowds, searching for space to breathe while pausing to exchange greetings with students who called out to her.

After a few minutes, she finally came to the edge of the massive sunken living room where the majority of people had gathered to dance and mingle. Her green eyes shifted from person to person, intent on finding the party's host, only to land on a sight she hadn't expected to see.

Leaning against the far wall, arms folded against his chest, was the brooding form of Lance Alvers.

To the casual observer, he seemed to be calmly surveying the wild scene, his features schooled to neutrality, one foot absently keeping the tempo of the song currently blaring – the epitome of rebel cool.

Jean, however, could instantly see that he was ill at ease. His body language was stiff, his jaw was clenched, and, if the anxious way his gaze kept darting from one end of the room to the other was any indication, he was searching for someone.

_Maybe one of his Brotherhood friends?_ She mused, her eyes roaming over his agitated face unthinkingly.

It wasn't until Lance's dark eyes happened to flicker her way that she realized, and not with some small measure of unsettlement, that she'd been staring at him a little longer than was necessary.

Thankfully, Lance didn't seem to notice the extended appraisal or the girl who'd been conducting it. He actually disregarded her at first glance, his attention moving on to the next cluster of people without bothering to pause, until belated recognition flashed across his face. His eyes swung back to her, and Jean watched them grow wide, either in surprise at seeing her look so different from her everyday self, or perhaps with anxiety at having been spotted by one of the 'enemy'. Whatever the reason, an instant flush began crawling under her skin, a prickling heat that only intensified when his gaze continued to linger.

Not sure how she should respond to his penetrating, unreadable stare, she finally offered him a simple nod of acknowledgement, a hesitant smile breaking across her face as she did so. Her gesture seemed to take the lanky youth aback for a moment, his tapping foot missing a beat before stopping completely, as if her wordless greeting was the last thing he expected.

And then, he returned the favour.

Without breaking eye contact, Lance tipped his dark head forward slowly, a tentative smile crossing his formerly impassive lips, that ever-so-slight curving of his mouth transforming his usually hardened face into something softer, warmer, and, most shocking of all, darkly handsome. It was in realizing that she was seeing him as that – as physically attractive – that brought Jean up short. Her breath caught sharply in her throat, and a swell of warmth spiraled up from the pit of her stomach, adding to the heat of the blush already staining her pale face, announcing her embarrassment to anyone who chose to look for it.

Shaken and flustered, she turned towards a gyrating gaggle of half-dressed girls in an effort to hide her obvious discomfiture, waiting for her pulse to stop racing and the colour in her cheeks to cool. When they had, Jean peered around the students that had hidden her from view, only to find that Lance had moved on, his vacated spot already claimed by a couple playing vicious tonsil hockey.

Exhaling slowly, Jean shook her head in confusion before remembering what her original intent had been. She honed in on the nearest football player and grabbed his sleeve.

"Hey Mike, have you seen Duncan?" she queried, having to yell to be heard over the music.

"Yeah, out back!" the boy hollered before returning to his interrupted conversation.

Jean patted his arm in thanks, and began to weave her way through the crowd, now aiming for the open doors that lead to rear wrap-around deck, all the while contemplating her body's intense reaction to something as simple as Lance's smile.

* * *

Lance hastily twisted the cap off of the bottle of beer he'd lifted from one of the kitchen's many coolers, and took a healthy swig of the icy liquid, feeling instantly relieved as it coursed down his throat. His thirst sated for the time being, he continued to prowl the lake house for his elusive prey.

He'd been searching for the better part of twenty minutes, had been in almost every room, down every corridor, all around the entire building itself, but still hadn't come across Kitty.

His hand tightened around the moisture-beaded bottle he held in irritation, a tremble of power rising in the pit of his stomach as it did whenever his emotions flared, almost on the verge of manifesting. With effort, he pushed the sensation away and reined in his temper. Neither would do him any good if they were unleashed.

_Just keep looking..._ he told himself resolutely, feet already in motion.

Lance knew that she was around somewhere – that Arcade guy he'd cornered for information had said as much, and he'd heard some girl named Amanda squealing excitedly to her friends about having seen 'that sexy Kurt Wagner from math class'.

He took another gulp of beer, hoping to wash away the disgust that surged at the thought of anyone finding Nightcrawler _sexy_.

"It's enough to make a guy sick," Lance murmured to himself as he checked the line outside the bathroom for brunettes. Not spying any that were Kitty, he sighed and decided to try out front, once again feeling like kicking himself for letting his best shot at locating his missing ex-girl slip right through his fingers.

_I should have just gone up to Jean and asked her...she probably would have known..._

As his inner voice continued to berate him, Lance found his thoughts going back to his meeting with the telepath, and how he'd caught her staring at him just like he had earlier that week. At first it had startled him, finding that he was once again the target for the redhead's scrutiny. But then, when she'd smiled at him, surprise had melted into some other feeling he couldn't define.

He still had no clear answer as to why he'd smiled back, or why his pulse had sped up sight of her, firmly attributing his reactions to reflex rather than delve any deeper into the episode – he was distracted enough as it was.

_But even still, you have to admit she looks pretty amazing tonight..._ a niggling voice whispered from the back of his mind, recalling an image of the smartly-dressed girl to flash behind his eyes.

_A jerk like Duncan doesn't deserve any chick that hot..._

Lance shook his head to clear his train of thought, reminding himself that he didn't care who Miss Popularity chose to shack up with, and promptly bumped into several giggling girls.

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled absently, waving a hand at them in apology before recognizing one of their number. "Hey, aren't you in the same chemistry class with me and Kitty Pryde?" he demanded of a slender blonde girl with large blue eyes.

The girl nodded shyly, face going a little pink when her friends started nudging her teasingly.

"Have you seen her tonight? Kitty, I mean," Lance continued, praying for a lucky break.

"Um...yeah. She was just here, actually," the blonde replied, nervously taking a sip from the open wine cooler she held.

Lance swallowed his impatience and instead gave the blushing girl a forced smile. "Did she happen to say where she was going?" he asked.

Rendered speechless by the handsome boy's attention, the girl was reduced to simply pointing to a pathway that led to the rear of the building, cheeks now a full-blown crimson. Lance didn't even notice his effect on her as he muttered his thanks, too intent on finding Kitty before she disappeared again, and strode down the stone walkway that wound through the trees.

Surprisingly, he found the path devoid of partygoers who, he assumed, preferred to remain close to where the action was, rather than risk stumbling about on the darkened outdoor avenues.

_Suits me just fine,_ Lance thought, realizing that if he happened to come across Kitty in the middle of nowhere, he'd be able to talk to her without an audience.

_Maybe she'll even be alone..._ echoed gleefully inside his skull, the shadows around him thickening until the darkness became almost absolute. _Not that I'd expect her freak of a lapdog to be far from_ –

Lance came to a sudden standstill, his inner voice instantly quieting, as soft sounds filtered through the trees furthest from the house. Holding his breath, he waited for the noises to come again, wanting to make sure it wasn't just some nocturnal bird, or his imagination, before going to investigate.

_There it is again!_ He thought triumphantly, now able to discern the hushed voice of someone speaking quietly nearby.

Honing in on where the voice seemed to be coming from, Lance silently slipped from the safety of the path and into the damp underbrush of the forest, the moist bedding of leaves serving to muffle his steps. He continued to strain his senses, listening intently for further sounds, until he noticed movement a few feet away.

Steeling himself, he angled his approach towards the indistinct figure, encouraged by a gut feeling telling him that his search was almost at an end.

He couldn't have been more right.


	5. Dark Discoveries

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality  
Disclaimer: Evo, Penthouse, and Jerry Springer are not mine. Big surprise...

* * *

Part Five: Dark Discoveries  


After her third tour of the house yielded no sign of Duncan, Jean was ready to give up.

_He'd__ better have one hell of an excuse_, she fumed silently, stalking through the kitchen and out onto the back deck again. _Ditching his guests - ditching **me**...I can't believe he'd be so rude!_

"Hey, Jean! You still looking for that boyfriend of yours?"

Jean paused before starting down the steps into the small yard, and looked over her shoulder, seeing her friend Linda waving from the other side of the deck. "I'm not sure," the redhead called back, making her way over to the porch swing Linda was sharing with two other girls. "The idea of him staying lost has kinda started to grow on me."

Linda laughed at Jean's sardonic tone, but the pair of females sitting next to her - cheerleaders and fanatical members of the Duncan Matthews' Fan Club both - gave the redhead identical looks of outraged shock, like she'd said something blasphemous.

_Airheads worshipping at the altar of the Idiot King, how appropriate_, Jean thought, rolling her eyes heavenward, inwardly hoping that she'd never behaved so ridiculously when she'd first been besotted with the jock.

"Well," Linda's amused voice sounded again. "In case a return to the single life hasn't won you over yet, you should head for the beach. I heard some of the guys saying Duncan's got a bonfire going down there, so that's probably where he's at."

_So nice of him to fill me in_, Jean grated wordlessly. Aloud, she thanked Linda, and, after a few more minutes of convivial conversation, struck off for the path that would take her to the beach.

Carefully making her way down the interlocking stones in her heels, alone save for the irritated voice grumbling in her head, she'd just passed the small utility shed that marked the midway point between house and lake, when a rustling from the foliage behind her snapped her to attention. Preparing her telekinesis in case it was something more than drunken teens coming her way, Jean was startled to see Lance stumble through the darkness of the trees, falling to his knees when he tripped over the stones that edged the walkway.

Jean stared at him for several heartbeats, waiting for him to get up and dust himself off, but when he didn't, she instinctively moved towards him, supposed enmity forgotten. But Lance's head jerked up at the sound of her approach, and the sight of his stricken face halted her a few steps shy of her destination.

Even though the shadows were dense, even though she could barely make out his features in the inky gloom, the scant light that managed to filter down through the overhead tree branches revealed a pair of eyes that burned with stunned disbelief. Twin tracks of moisture were seeping from them, shining wetly as they trailed down his cheeks.

Jean didn't know what was wrong with him, but she instantly surmised that something terrible must have happened; in all the years she'd known and battled against Avalanche, she had never seen him show weakness, had never seen him cry. The thought that she was witnessing him do just that jolted her out of the surprise that gripped her, prompting her to close the gap between them, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder tentatively while the other offered to help him up.

Lance flinched at the gentle contact, shaking her off as he staggered to his feet on his own, his fingers brushing away all traces of tears from his bowed head. Not bothering to explain, he simply stuffed his hands into his vest pockets and strode away, leaving Jean to watch after his retreating form, concern furrowing her brow.

"What on earth could have -" Her murmured question to herself was interrupted by more movement coming from the bushes – only this time, two figures stepped free of the underbrush, the sight of them sparking sudden understanding to flare in Jean's mind.

Kurt was helping Kitty find solid footing in the dark, his hands carefully bracing her shoulders to prevent her from stumbling on the uneven pathway, softly spoken German issuing from between his lips as they touched. Kitty, once free of the forest, slowly leaned into her boyfriend, her arms wrapping around his waist as their faces met in a languid kiss.

Jean chose that opportunity to duck behind the nearby shed, not wanting to intrude on her teammate's private moment. Her placement, however, didn't impede her from hearing what they said to each other next.

"I love you, Katzchen," Kurt murmured, his words thick with emotion.

"I love you too," Kitty replied, her voice muffled as if her face pressed against his chest. "I'm glad that I finally had the chance to show you just how much."

Jean bit her lip, her suspicions about what Lance had most assuredly stumbled across proven by Kitty's quiet statement. The pair's footsteps were heard moments later as they departed from the area, their intimate, shared laughter fading to indistinctness as they returned to the revelry of the house.

Feeling dazed, Jean rounded the shed's exterior and resumed her trek down the path, her thoughts spinning as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

_Kitty and Kurt...making love in the woods...and Lance saw them..._ kept repeating in her mind as she walked. _But how did he find them? It's not like they picked an obvious place to do - to do **that**..._

An image of Lance, anxiously keeping watch for someone earlier in the evening, suddenly rolled through Jean's head, making her heart catch sympathetically.

_He'd been looking for **Kitty**..._

Heels unexpectedly sinking into sand, and nearly serving to unbalance her, brought Jean's musings to an abrupt end. Discovering that she'd arrived at the beach, she darted a look down the stretch of shoreline and was gratified to see the orange glow of a fire a short distance away - though one that would prove considerably arduous with her current footwear.

_These will have to come off_, she decided with a glance at her shoes, irritated all over again as the hunt for her boyfriend continued to make life difficult.

Wondering anew why she was even bothering, Jean hobbled across the sand towards an outcropping of rock, figuring she'd be less likely to break her neck if she removed her shoes while seated. She gingerly sat down, hoping there were no spiders lurking in the boulders' blackened fissures, and started to unclasp the straps that fastened around her slim ankles, her ears picking up on several loud voices coming from the direction of the bonfire as she did so.

Rick Claybourne, Josh Miller, Tony Russo, Sandy and Taryn... Jean absently identified each laugh and echoing comment members of the nearby group made, finally hearing Duncan's braying howls of amusement surge loudly above them all.

"It's about time," she muttered, tapping the tenaciously clinging grit from the shoes in her hand.

She rose to her feet and started to move towards the circle of light a few paces away, only to hear something that stopped her before a second step could be taken.

Duncan, her two best friends, and half the football team, were in the midst of a conversation about sex - but that unsurprising topic alone wasn't what kept Jean from announcing her presence.

The fact _she_ was the main point of the discussion, was.

* * *

After stumbling around in the dark for a few minutes, looking for a place to collect his racing thoughts, Lance found himself at the top of the small cliff that bordered Duncan's property and overlooked the lake. Hearing sounds of distant partying, but seeing no one nearby, he moved close to the edge of the precipice and crumpled to his knees again, wrapping his arms around his midsection, wondering how it was possible for his insides to ache when he felt so utterly empty. 

He looked out over the inky water, silently watching as clouds darker than the night sky scudded in from the west, beginning to overtake the wanly shining moon and its harem of stars.

"Why, Kitty?" eventually whispered from his lips, his tone choked with defeat. "Why him and not me?"

His eyes burned at the question, warning that another bout of tears was imminent, and he hastily composed himself, suddenly feeling like the world's biggest wuss.

"At least I'm alone this time," he muttered, recalling with no small measure of embarrassment that his earlier breakdown had been witnessed - and by Jean Grey of all people. "Bitch probably thought it was pretty funny, too," he added, willing himself to anger, wanting something - anything - to replace the hurt in his heart.

But the tactic didn't work - not in the way he'd expected.

The muddled state inflicted by seeing Kitty in Kurt's arms had dissipated enough so that he was able to focus on his evening's second run-in with the redhead with a clearer mind. He replayed the event, trying to pick up on Jean's reaction, sure that she'd smirked, or that her eyes had sparkled with amusement to see him brought so low, or that she'd made some snide comment about the situation as he'd passed her...

_Only she didn't_, Lance's inner voice whispered.

_She didn't laugh at you...didn't gloat...didn't turn and walk away like you were less than nothing..._

The slow realization stirred confusion and forced a frown.

_She went to you - her enemy - and offered you her hand_, the voice continued, pulling a remembered image of how the telepath had looked standing in front of him, her arm outstretched, her expression one of concern.

Lance scowled at the memory, the muscles in his shoulder twitching when he recalled her feather-light touch. "She felt sorry for me," he told his inner self, finally angry, but at the thought he might be pitied by anyone - especially Jean.

The subconscious voice seemed disinclined to agree - Lance could have sworn he heard a sigh of exasperation slither through his skull - but it quieted all the same, leaving the brooding youth alone with his convictions.

"Whatever," Lance muttered, suddenly weary and more than ready to head back to Bayville. He climbed to his feet and started to unzip his pants. "This whole fucking night has been nothing but a big waste of time."

Taking the last step needed to get to the cliff's edge, about to relieve himself over the side before the long drive ahead of him, Lance stilled at discovering, not ten feet below, the true source of the 'distant' party noises.

A huge bonfire, roaring in sandy pit ringed by rocks and logs, surrounded by a number of laughing, drinking, seemingly happy people.

They instantly disgusted Lance in his current mood - no one deserved to be so joyful when he was feeling like shit - and he debated if he should piss on them anyway, 'rain on their parade', so to speak, when he heard something that made his ears prick up with interest.

"Whaddaya mean, I don't get any? Jean's _wild_ in bed!"

It was Duncan's voice, slurred and obnoxiously loud.

"Yeah right, Dunk. You just keep telling yourself that," one of his chuckling football buddies countered.

"No, I'm serious," Duncan insisted. "She's fucking _insatiable_, like a goddamned nympho or something. I even had to give her the room next to mine for the weekend just so I could get some sleep!"

A giggling female piped up, her tone more archly biting than amused. "I always wondered if a slut was hiding behind the goody-two shoes act. Like, why else would Duncan date a brown-noser like her for so long if she wasn't - all the stimulating conversation?"

"Conversation?" the jock scoffed. "Jean's got better things to do with that mouth of hers." He did a credible imitation of a vacuum, much to the delight of his audience.

People were laughing again, Duncan was strutting like a peacock, and Lance watched all from his vantage point above, completely stunned by what he was hearing.

"So what else does she do, Dunk?" someone hollered.

"Is she kinky?" another asked.

Duncan fielded their questions with nonchalant smugness, and then went on to embellish certain aspects of his replies, sounding as lewd as a letter straight from the pages of Penthouse - and in Lance's opinion, completely full of crap.

"What an asshole," he grated, surprised to feel an angry tension singing through his arms, a precursor usually reserved for quakes or violence - or both. He flexed his hands experimentally, wondering at his sudden desire to smash Duncan's teeth in.

_Like I even need a reason to teach that stupid fuck some manners_, he thought contemptuously, pushing away the notion that the sudden urge stemmed from hearing Jean spoken about with such disrespect. He didn't care about the redhead, let alone what people thought of her, so it was just too ridiculous to be a factor. But despite his vehement denial, the idea of sending a rockslide onto Duncan's head was mulled over anyway - an idea that never came to fruition, as Jean chose that moment to reveal herself, stepping into the circle of firelight, her mocking expression plain even at a distance.

Lance crowded close to the cliff's edge on hands and knees, his earlier misery forgotten at the sight of the redhead, and the instant hush her appearance had elicited from her so-called friends.

"Hey babe," Duncan was saying good-naturedly as he staggered to his feet, moving towards her as if for a kiss. "We were just talking about you."

Jean held out a hand, warning him away. "So I heard," she said simply as she stared hard at the assembled students. "Please, continue. Don't let my being here ruin the conversation, not when it was just starting to get interesting."

Guilty faces, shame-filled eyes, and the snapping of the fire were the only replies; no one said a word.

Jean looked disappointed. "What's the matter, out of gossip already?" she queried, turning a scornful smile on her boyfriend. "Or is it just harder to lie about someone when they're standing right in front of you?"

Duncan let out a little laugh, a nervous sound to Lance's ears, and tried to diffuse the situation. "C'mon, Jean, we were just having some fun -"

"At my expense?" the telepath cut in sharply. "By making me out to be some kind of whore from one of your perverted fantasies? Sounds real fun, Duncan. I'm glad everyone found your filthy imagination so entertaining, because I certainly didn't."

"Jeannie -"

"Save it for your next girlfriend, Duncan," Jean interrupted coolly, turning from the group, head held high as she walked away. "You and I are through."

Duncan stared after her as if not fully understanding what she'd just said, before a look of shock flashed across his features. "Jean, wait!" he cried a second later, tossing his bottle of beer into the fire, his bare feet kicking up sand as he charged down the beach.

Lance followed unthinkingly, traversing the edge of the cliff until he was once again afforded a clear view of the couple. Duncan had overtaken Jean, and was now pulling at her arm; his pleading words lost on Lance as they babbled from the inebriated jock's mouth. But where Duncan was close to incoherent, Jean's voice was like a whip crack.

"I said let go."

The jock murmured something in reply.

"I don't care how much you've had to drink, and I don't care if you're sorry. Let me go right now."

Lance was surprised anew to hear her sound so commanding, so sure of herself, so unlike the whiny, spoiled princess he'd always believed her to be. He could feel an urge to intervene welling up inside him, but he ignored it, even going so far as to smirk at the thought. "She won't need any help dealing with that piece of shit," he murmured, knowing exactly how the scene below was going to play out - which for all intents and purposes, it did.

Tired of listening to the football player's sniveling, Jean wrenched her arm from his grip with one quick movement and shoved him away with her free hand at the same time. Off balance and unsuspecting, Duncan toppled backwards, landing in the sand with an audible thump.

"Don't ever touch me again," Jean snapped. "I meant what I said, we're finished."

"Oh _yeah_?" Duncan yelled, brushing himself off as he scrambled upright. "Without me, you'll be the one who's finished! Without me, you're nothing! All I have to do is say the word and you'll be persona non grata at Bayville!"

"Is that so?" Jean asked lightly.

"Don't push me, Jean. You know I can do that and a hell of a lot more," Duncan warned, very unwisely reaching out and taking the redhead's upper arms in either of his hands. "Now, you're gonna drop the attitude, come back to the fire with me, tell everyone you're sorry for overreacting, and be nothing but nice for the rest of the weekend, understood?"

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll finally get to see what you look like on your hands and knees - when you come crawling back to me!" Duncan barked out a nasty laugh. "Just make sure you know what to do while you're down there, 'cause I won't even think about taking you back without one hell of a performance."

It was too dark to see Jean's reaction to the crude ultimatum, but the resounding slap she delivered to Duncan's face after she jerked out of his grasp wasn't.

"Go to hell, you stupid, arrogant, son of a bitch," Lance heard her say with acidic sweetness.

Duncan, obviously shocked by the rebuff, stammered unintelligibly - about what, Lance never knew. One minute the blond was swaying unsteadily in the sand, blubbering his outrage, the next, he was flung by an invisible force into the depths of the icy lake behind him, his panicked shrieks echoing shrilly when he managed to claw his way to the surface. Jean didn't bother to stick around to ensure Duncan was fished out of the drink by some of his buddies, either. Lance saw one of her arms, pale against the darkness, move as if she were throwing something at her former boyfriend - a big rock, he hoped - and then she was retreating back the way she'd come, vanishing into the night without another word.

Losing sight of her, Lance sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That was some dysfunctional Jerry Springer shit right there," he said, exhaling heavily, not even sure why he'd lingered to witness such a soap opera in the first place.

_Better than dealing with my problems_, he decided with a tired shrug, the depression over losing Kitty once again looming in the back of his head like a threatening cloud just waiting to burst.

As if the analogy had been a summons, several cold pellets of water pattered down from the dark sky above, slapping against his exposed skin and jolting him from his musings with a muttered curse.

"Great, this is all I need," he grumbled, stalking back towards the glow of Duncan's cottage.

He'd just made the edge of the makeshift parking lot when the rain began in earnest, a growl of thunder preceding several bright flashes of lightning, announcing the onset of a late-season storm. Darting through the haphazard rows of cars, one hand held up to shield his eyes from the downpour, Lance tried unsuccessfully to remember where he'd left his jeep, now thankful that he'd been too lazy to take the reinforced canvas top off.

"Left the damned windows down, though," he recalled with annoyance, irritation that was compounded when the hem of his sodden vest caught on the side mirror of the vehicle he'd been rushing past. He paused to tug the fabric free, immediately identifying the familiar blue convertible - currently filling with rain - as Duncan's.

"What a moron," Lance snorted, seeing that the jock hadn't put up the retractable roof, thereby leaving the expensive leather interior exposed to the elements.

Puddles had already started to form in the gentle depressions of each bucket seat, soaking the CDs and letterman's jacket that had been carelessly left behind, when Lance - now dripping wet and thoroughly aggravated - finally managed to disentangle himself from the mirror's clutches.

"Stupid fucking car," he groused, wishing he could kick the car's owner as soundly as he did the nearest tire, just as another, decidedly malicious idea formed in his head. He shot a quick look around, ensuring that the weather had driven all the outside partygoers to seek shelter, and then hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans.

"Thanks for inviting me to your suck-ass shin dig, Matthews," Lance laughed derisively, getting into position. "I forgot it was a 'bring your own' affair, so it's only right that I give you back the beer I had."

A second stream of liquid joined the efforts of the rain, spraying into the car and onto the seats, along the dashboard and against the steering wheel, eventually dying off as Lance's bladder emptied, though not before the satin lining of Duncan's jacket was given a very special bath.

The petty act of revenge complete, Lance refastened his pants and continued on to his jeep, feeling better than he had all night.


	6. Crossroads

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality  
Disclaimer: Not mine

Yrch Monger - Funny you should mention the Jean/Remy pairing - the follow-up to Trial By Fire that I'd planned ages ago will feature them prominently. Now if my TBF muse would just wake up... ;) Thanks for the ongoing encouragement!

A. Ceretta - Not a fan of pee, eh? ;D Thanks for the review - I can always count on you to give me perma-grin.

Reeny - Hee! I guess my anti-JOTT sentiments are pretty well-known by now. I'm just glad you enjoy what I write despite the lack of your favourite couple. Thanks!

Purity Black - I must give credit where credit is due - It was your Power9 fic that rekindled my interest in Jeance and resurrected this story. You rock PB:)

* * *

Part Six: Crossroads

Jean tried to stalk angrily away from the cottage, but the glorified dirt lane known as High Point Road, littered with sharp rocks and hidden depressions - and now dangerously slick with the sudden rain - seemed unable to accommodate, fairly promising a twisted ankle if she didn't proceed with caution. Forced to slow her pace and step with care, denied both the satisfaction of her righteously determined exit and the ability to parlay some of that bubbling fury into action, the flames of her ire were fanned ever higher.

_First I waste more than a year of my life on that disgusting bastard, and then my best pair of shoes_, she fumed silently, looking down at her bare feet as they stomped their way through a muddy puddle.

_Dirtbag should be thanking his lucky stars I didn't have a big, pointy stick to throw at him instead..._

At the thought of those expensive designer projectiles making painful acquaintance with Duncan's head, Jean was mollified somewhat, and she was able to quell the murderous instinct currently urging her to locate just such a stick, and return to the house to rectify the oversight.

"Stab it right through that portion of his anatomy he values most," she growled, viciously swiping at a raindrop on her cheek that the small telekinetic shield over her head had failed to stop. "Or at least try to, damn thing's probably as tiny as his brain."

Dark amusement filtered through the anger as Jean contemplated the validity of the rumors she'd overheard but always discounted - the ones perpetuated by some of the football players after inadvertently glimpsing an unclothed Duncan in the locker room - but it dissipated the further down the road she got.

Thanks to the shift in weather, it was colder than she'd anticipated, a condition that trudging barefoot through ankle-deep potholes of mucky water wasn't improving. And while the mind-induced barrier between her and the storm's icy deluge helped keep her dry to some extent, it wasn't big enough to offer more protection than any standard umbrella would, allowing spears of liquid to spatter against her skin with increasing frequency as the storm picked up.

After a quick inner debate, Jean regretfully dismissed the idea of enlarging her invisible shelter, the thought of having to sustain such a shield, coupled with the long walk back to civilization, prompting phantom stress-related pains to flicker like warnings in her head.

_Why Kitty and Kurt felt the need to take off and strand me, I'll never know_, she grumbled internally, not wanting to dwell on the possibilities the young lovers' absences could be attributed to. Instead, she focused on Duncan - the real culprit behind her current predicament.

"My being cold and wet, wandering through a storm, in the dark, without shoes, a phone, or a change of clothes...it's all his fault," she tallied, once again feeling foolish for leaving without first retrieving her overnight bag from the guest room, for allowing anger to take the place of good judgement. Jean paused in her tracks and shot a look over her shoulder, trying to gauge the distance back to the house, but there was nothing but rain-filled gloom behind her. Huffing out an irritated sigh, wrapping her arms around her upper body for warmth, she resumed walking in the direction she'd chosen for better or worse.

_Too late to go back for my stuff now_, she told herself firmly, ignoring the beckoning lure of her comfy sweatshirt, dry running shoes, and the ride home her cell phone would assuredly summon. She shook her head resolutely, for once not caring if her pride was making her behave irrationally. Besides anger, it was the only thing sustaining her, keeping her from succumbing to Duncan's betrayal. Without the influence of those all-consuming emotions, she'd feel nothing but hurt.

_And I'll be damned if I cry over that asshole_, her inner voice swore vehemently, her eyes pricking hotly seconds later despite the promise.

She blinked rapidly, willing the hateful sensation away.

_No, I won't give in, won't go back to the house, not after what happened. I'd rather die than give him - or anyone - the satisfaction of seeing me like this_, she continued silently when the threat of tears had passed.

_And I'll be perfectly fine out here on my own. The rain can't last forever, and I'm sure I saw a gas station on the way up, maybe a couple of miles down the main road. I'll call the Institute from there..._

Feeling better now that she had a plan - however tentative - in place, Jean was finally able to think about other things. She pushed all thoughts of disastrous parties, backstabbing friends, and cruelly spoken words, to the back of her mind, determined not to fret over them any longer. The soft roll of thunder overhead, mud squishing up through her toes, the damp smell of the surrounding forest, bits of gravel digging into her heels, the hushed cadence of raindrops striking the trees and their remaining leaves; they were what she focused on, what filled her uncluttered head, what helped to soothe the lingering flutter of turbulence in her belly.

She gratefully embraced the nature of those primitive distractions; they were effortless and safe and cathartic - they allowed her mind to revert to unthinking blankness, to drift.

And drift it did...straight to a pair of brown eyes that she'd last seen glistening with tears.

Rubbing arms that suddenly went to gooseflesh at the unbidden image, Jean bit at her lower lip in vexation and attempted to banish the memory to the same darkness thoughts of Duncan had been relegated to.

It proved an exercise in futility.

The unwanted gaze stubbornly remained, floating within her skull like two chips of burnished copper, until they slowly coalesced into something more: a furrowed brow, a strong chin, lips that were neither full nor thin, but always seemed to be twisted in some mocking semblance of a smile. It was a face Jean knew well, belonging to a boy she barely knew at all.

_Like I'd want to_, Jean thought to herself with a shake of her head, her sour mood bleeding into tartly petulant cynicism. She met the imaginary stare of Lance Alvers with that of her mind's eye, and regarded the vision of him critically.

His was a chiseled countenance as hard and unyielding as the earth he had power over. It inspired no illusions of warmth or compassion, no indication it could soften with either laughter or kindness; it was a landscape barren of joy and incapable of masking anything deeper than the sarcastic disdain he'd always favoured her with.

Or so she tried to tell herself, even as her subconscious responded to those harsh sentiments with a slightly different perspective. All at once, she was bombarded with remembered images, a flood of truth her annoyed convictions had no chance of standing against.

Lance...sitting under a tree...stroking the wings of a moth with uncharacteristic gentleness.

Lance...head thrown back...laughing at the sight of Scott wearing Duncan's lunch.

Lance...kneeling on a stone pathway...silently grieving the loss of a girl he still loved.

Lance...smiling...

Smiling...at _her_.

The memory of that single expression, of the accompanying warmth she'd seen in his eyes, stirred an answering heat to wakefulness from some place deep inside of her. It flared to life and swirled like a golden rush through her veins before she could catch it, chasing away the chill of the rain, sending her heartbeat tripping erratically.

"God, what's wrong with me?" Jean groaned softly in exasperation, bewildered by her body's increasingly distressful reactions to a person who hated her, and who was disliked intensely in return.

Had she maintained her present train of thought, she might have managed to sort the situation out to some degree of satisfaction, but ill-luck - in the form of a car and an extremely large puddle - chose that precise moment to intervene.

Jean heard the growl of an engine a few seconds before the blinding glare of headlights cut through the darkness behind her, and, not feeling wretched enough to contemplate suicide, she moved to the very edge of the road to avoid being run over. She paused there, turning into the light to ensure the driver saw her, which, judging by the car's slight change in approach, he apparently did.

The vehicle swerved around her, but not before sending a shockingly cold wave of water cascading over her form, drenching her both instantly and absolutely.

Stunned, blinking water from her eyes, Jean stared after the fading glow of red taillights, shivering with a mixture of disbelief, indignation, and the chill of her unexpected shower. When those twin flickers of crimson had winked out of existence and only the rain swept night remained, she started forward yet again, obliterating her teke shield with an angry jerk of her head.

"No point trying to stay dry now," she sniped bitterly, her dripping frame shuddering as icy drops slapped against her exposed skin and trailed down her cheeks like the tears she'd so diligently repressed. She kicked at a puddle in her frustration, only succeeding in splashing mud and stubbing her toe hard enough to hurt, making her curse loudly. Bending down to rub away the stinging sensation, eyes watering with salty liquid degrees warmer than the rain, she bowed her head and swallowed the self-pitying tightness in her throat, reminding herself that she was better - stronger - than that.

_Feeling sorry for yourself will get you nowhere_, her inner voice chided.

_I know_, Jean nodded in mute response, lifting her dispirited gaze beyond the shadowed forest road, up to the blackened, lightning-veined clouds above. _I just can't believe how this night's turned out - Duncan, walking home like this, that inconsiderate jerk that just drove by... I mean, can't **anything** go right?_

A grumble of thunder met that plaintive, unspoken query, leaving Jean to wonder if the ominous sound was the heaven's way of telling her not to be so quick in thinking all was said and done.

After all, the night wasn't over yet.

* * *

Finally locating his jeep, and seeing that he had, in fact, left the windows down, Lance let out a muttered string of four-letter words. 

He hurriedly opened the driver's side door and touched both the dash and his seat, testing the level of wetness, a relieved breath sighing from his lips when his groping fingers only encountered slight dampness. He hopped inside, leaning across the passenger's seat to roll up the far window before seeing to his own, and stuck the key in the ignition.

The engine was permitted to idle for a few minutes while Lance pulled off his sopping vest and shirt, and used them to mop up the few rivulets of water that clung to the steering wheel and stereo face. After tossing the unwearable garments to the floor, he reached for the duffel bag he'd stowed behind his seat, and pulled out one of the dry tees that had been stuffed inside.

One of the changes of clothing he'd been expecting to use after a weekend spent 'getting back together' with Kitty.

"Not gonna think about that now," he grated, yanking the shirt over his head and putting the jeep into gear.

The route out of the lot was thankfully clear of obstructions, everyone having parked with some degree of courtesy, and Lance quickly found his sights full of nothing but a rain-battered windshield and lonely road, the soft glow of the summer house fading into obscurity within seconds.

"Good fucking riddance," he murmured darkly, taking the unpaved lane slowly in deference to the bad weather, blindly stabbing a finger at the stereo's control panel.

Deafening music immediately erupted, though it wasn't the ear-splitting volume that made Lance flinch. He slapped his hand against the eject button, and the tape currently playing obediently popped free of the deck. He pulled it out completely, staring accusingly at the label he didn't need light to read - the six words written in bubble gum-scented marker had been committed to memory long ago.

**"Our Soundtrack"**, bordered with several small, hot pink hearts, was boldly proclaimed on side 'A', while **"All My Love, Kitty"** had been neatly penned on side 'B'.

"Lies," Lance whispered, his hand tightening angrily around the cassette. "All _lies_."

There was a snapping noise as the fragile plastic casing cracked under the pressure of his fingers, and still he continued to squeeze, not caring when sharp edges bit into the flesh of his palm. He needed some way to express his pent-up emotions, and if he couldn't unleash them on the girl they stemmed from, then something she'd given him would have to serve. When there was nothing left of the tape but a tangle of shiny black ribbon and shards of ruined case, Lance unrolled the window halfway, and pitched the remains into the ditch that ran along the side of the road.

"Good _fucking_ riddance," he repeated bitterly, cranking the window shut and turning his attention back to driving.

And he was glad that he did, when something - or someone - was spotted on the road just ahead.

Lance squinted and leaned forward, realizing he was seeing the telltale lines of a person's figure, rather than those of some furred forest denizen he first thought the shadow to be.

"Who in the hell would be out for walk in the middle of nowhere on a night like - " The murmured words trailed off as surprise suddenly gripped him.

The person had pivoted towards his oncoming jeep, most likely to avoid becoming road kill, and was brought into shocking relief when the headlight's brightness spilled over their form.

Still dressed in the elegant, monochromatic outfit he'd first seen her in - though a little worse for wear - was Jean Grey. There was no mistaking that perfectly proportioned body, that familiar face, or, despite the way she'd tied it back, the fiery sheen of her hair.

"Guess I wasn't the only one who couldn't wait to leave party central," Lance snorted in vague amusement, remembering how the telepath had vanished after dealing with Duncan, though at the time he'd merely assumed she'd retreated to sulk in private. Never would he have expected to find her out on the road, braving the elements, apparently preferring a long walk home over the relative comfort afforded by Duncan's cottage - however upset she might be at its owner.

Lance shook his head in wonderment, not sure if the feeling plucking at his insides was grudging admiration for the redhead's tenacity, or incredulity at the irrationality of her actions - especially when he noticed she was barefoot.

"She's nuts," he ultimately decided, angling the jeep's trajectory so that it crossed to the other side of the road, Jean now only a few feet ahead. "But that ain't _my_ problem. Have a good walk, Princess," he saluted as the jeep sailed past her with room to spare - and straight through a veritable trough of muddy water.

The resulting splash was impossible to ignore; it crashed over the jeep's hood, blanketing the windshield under a wave of dirty liquid, and sprayed up audibly against the thick flap of clear plastic that served as the rear window. Lance hurriedly glanced over his shoulder, hoping that his car alone had been the recipient of that accidental bath, only to groan aloud when the receding sight of Jean revealed otherwise.

"Shit," he hissed, facing the road again, determinedly refusing to stop, slow, or even look back, despite the instantaneous prick of hot guilt his less than chivalrous behaviour garnered.

_Nice, Alvers, real nice..._ a flatly disapproving voice sighed in his head.

Lance exhaled angrily at hearing his subconscious-self sound so reproving. "What?" he demanded in irritation, hating it when his conscience tried to interfere.

_Oh please_, that intangible presence countered sarcastically. _You see a girl who might have appreciated some help, and not only do you soak her, you keep on driving..._

"So?" Lance snapped, his hands going tight around the steering wheel. "What do I look like - a goddamned Good Samaritan? I'm a member of the Brotherhood, for Christ's sake, not some fucking knight in shining armor." He shook his head, lips curling sardonically. "Kitty was pretty clear about _that_ the day we broke up."

The voice in his head made a noise of discontent, preparing to launch another scolding diatribe, but Lance was through listening. He flicked a switch, changing the stereo's function from tape to radio, and let out a relieved breath when distracting music once again blared from the speakers.

A few minutes of blessed inner peace ticked by, and Lance relaxed enough to tap his fingers along with the charging beat of the random song playing.

But where his brain had lapsed quietly into defeat on the topic of abandoning Jean, the tiny bubble of guilt his leaving her had created only continued to grow. It swelled up from the pit of his stomach with every passing second, filling his midsection with uncomfortable warmth, crawling up his neck in a prickling flush, until his face fairly burned with shame.

_It's not too late to go back for her..._ whispered stealthily through his mind.

"No," Lance grumbled with slightly less conviction than he had before, not sure if the faintly echoing thought belonged to his conscience, or to him.

_It's the right thing to do..._ the whisper continued.

"No," Lance repeated, staunchness being eaten away by uncharacteristic remorse.

_You know she'd do the same if your positions were reversed..._

His first instinctive reply was an emphatic 'Bullshit!', but in remembering Jean's extended hand, her earlier offer of silent help, the lie died before it could be voiced, leaving him defenseless.

There was a pregnant pause from both parties, and then...

"Son of a bitch," Lance surrendered bitterly, jerking the steering wheel violently to one side before he even realized what he was doing.

The tires protested the abrupt 180 he spun them in, skidding in the soft mud despite their treads, but moved swiftly once again when redirected back the way they'd come, almost as if, they too, approved his spontaneous decision.

Lance uttered imprecations under his breath, calling himself every kind of idiot, and tore up the road he'd just traveled down, firmly attributing his actions to his need for atonement.

"Fair's fair," he groused sullenly, scanning the shadows for a glimpse of the redhead he'd so callously deserted. "I'm only doing this so she and I are square."

The thought that his sudden change of heart might actually stem from anything besides a sense of reluctant duty - like say, the curious way she caused his pulse to leap whenever he happened to catch her staring - never once crossed his mind.


	7. Mixed Signals

Title: A Series Of Observations  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality  
Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Part Seven: Mixed Signals

_Another car? _

The thought caught Jean's attention and she glanced up, blinking through the cold raindrops that clung to her lashes.

Water streamed down from above like a veritable curtain, combining with the low-hanging clouds and the clusters of pine and cedar trees that lined the road to make the darkness almost absolute. She couldn't see what lay ahead, but the humming drone of an engine - growing louder with every passing second - told her that she hadn't been mistaken; some kind of vehicle was indeed approaching. A realization that was confirmed when a pair of misty headlights suddenly appeared in the distance, flickering through the trees before rounding a bend, and then moving swiftly up the straight stretch of hard-packed earth she was currently traversing.

_Must be a local_, she concluded with a dismissive shrug of her bare shoulders. _Or maybe it's the same jackass who drenched me a mile ago - back for round two... _

The sarcastic jest encouraged a sardonic smile, one that faded as she squinted to get a better look at the car flying towards her.

_A boxy shape...high, round headlights - one slightly dimmer than the other...incredibly noisy...obviously needs a new muffler or a tune-up or something... Hey, wait a second... _

Suspicious recognition widened her narrowed eyes.

"I think that _is_ the same jackass!" she gasped, both surprised and angry all at once.

Energy surged through her like electricity as her power reawakened, her eyes gleaming with wicked intent, mind spinning with all manner of vengeful possibilities.

_Boy, did you ever pick the wrong night to piss me off_, she told the car's driver wordlessly, her fingers curling into her palms.

She'd just begun debating the merits of blowing out his tires versus sending the idiot careening into the ditch, when those arcing lights spilled over her form and blinded her night-sensitive eyes. She threw an arm up against her brow, attempting to lessen the glare, only to see the car's forward momentum skid to an abrupt halt a few feet away. Jean blinked apprehensively at the recently stilled vehicle - _a jeep_, she absently noted, its close proximity now enabling her to identify its make - and, her arm slowly lowering to her side, waited to see what the driver wanted of her.

She wasn't left waiting for long, as the passenger door suddenly swung outward on an audible creak of unoiled hinges - a wordless invitation if Jean ever saw one. But rather than filling her with relief or gratitude, it only served to rekindle her anger.

"I don't believe this," she ground out in disgust, her voice calling to the driver as she began stalking towards his window. "If you think I'm going to jump into some stranger's car, you've got another thing coming, buddy! Or was that your sick and twisted plan from the get go? Drive by and splash me in the hopes that I'd just accept a ride from any weirdo that offered one?

Jean was less than five paces from the driver's door, quivering with righteous indignation, when the window started to roll down.

"What are you, some kind of pervert?" she continued, viciously swiping rain from her eyes. "Because I promise you that if you even so much as -"

Her voice cut out mid-sentence, her throat constricting in shock, when her baleful stare met the very same pair of dark eyes that had hijacked her thoughts only minutes earlier. Eyes that were now regarding her ranting figure with a mixture of impatience and vague irritation.

_Lance..._

Inexplicably embarrassed, former outrage died, allowing the damp's chill to overtake her once again. She shivered, crossing her arms against her breasts, and licked the beads of rain from her lips in an attempt to appear other than the pitiful creature she knew she must look like.

"W-what are you doing here?" she finally asked, bewilderment stealing her breath.

There was a sigh, heavy with aggravation, a muttering of words too low to be discerned over both the still running jeep and the unabated storm, and then those glittering, disconcerting eyes flicked away, shifting to stare out the windshield sullenly.

Jean watched the play of unhappy emotions scroll across his face, wondering if an answer was forthcoming, or if his being there confused him as much as it did her.

The silence between them stretched, the elapsing time marked by the rhythmic 'thwumping' of the front wiper blades, until the redhead let out a sigh of her own. She had no idea what he wanted, what he expected of her, or why he'd even come back in the first place. The impression he was giving plainly stated that, return or not - open door or not - she was the very last person he wanted sitting in that as yet unofficially offered seat next to him.

_Well forget this_, Jean grumbled to herself, scrunching her toes in the mud to get some feeling back into them. _I'm not going to stand here all night, waiting to get pneumonia while he tries to figure out which hint he'd like me to take - especially when one is so much more obvious than the other..._

"Look, I appreciate..." she began haltingly, amending her words with a shake of her wet head. "I'll be fine on my own."

Unsurprisingly, her announcement drew no response.

_Whatever_, she huffed internally, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she turned away, not bothering with a farewell.

Though her walk had only been interrupted for a few minutes, and there'd been no time for her surroundings to change by any noticeable degree, when Jean took that first step away from Lance's jeep, she could have sworn that wind was colder, and the night darker, than ever before.

* * *

Spying Jean's waterlogged form, Lance released the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. "Finally," he grumbled, maneuvering the jeep into the center of the road before jerking it to a stop. 

Pausing only long enough to turn down the radio, he leaned across to the passenger side and flung the door open, pretty sure that she'd take the gesture for what it was worth, and simply climb in.

No explanation needed, no extra effort to be made, no awkward propositions. At least that's what he predicted - until Jean began advancing on him, biting words rolling off her tongue, and fury blazing in her eyes.

"She thinks I'm some freak who soaked her purposely, and now she's pissed. Perfect," Lance muttered sourly when he heard the nature of her accusations, cranking his window down to show the nearing girl that she was wrong. "I _knew_ I should've just kept driving."

He peered out at the redhead, miffed at the reception he was receiving - though he knew on some level that it was deserved - and waited for her to clue in.

"What are you, some kind of pervert? Because I promise you that if you even so much as -"

Recognition brought instant silence, instant cessation of movement, and for Lance, on the receiving end of that wide-eyed, expressive green stare, instant discomfort.

Something hot started nibbling at the lining of his stomach, and though he'd been prepared for it, had steeled himself against it, his pressure points began throbbing all at once in response to his now nervously stuttering heartbeat. Sensations, he noted with something akin to confused dismay, that only intensified at the sight of her tongue anxiously sweeping along her rain-dewed lower lip.

"W-what are you doing here?"

Her soft voice, devoid of its earlier heat, shook him out of the fixed state of paralysis that had taken him unawares, but it was the sharp stab of guilt at seeing how she shivered, joining forces with growing uneasiness, that fully jolted him back to his originally irritated self.

_What the hell is happening to me?_ He silently railed, a hissing exhalation, heavy with vexation, preceding his too-quiet, angrily muttered reply to the redhead's question. "You're the fucking telepath, _you_ tell _me_."

He turned away from her after that, both in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure and to avoid suffering any further, decidedly disturbing reactions her steady gaze seemed able to provoke. He concentrated on the view ahead instead, focusing determinedly on the jeep's wipers, watching as they struggled against the waves of water pouring down the windshield, and stiffly waited for Jean to take him up on his grudging, and in his mind, blatantly obvious offer.

Only she didn't, and the newly tangible silence between them flourished.

_She's waiting for you to ask her_... an inner voice eventually prompted.

_I have!_ Lance shot back peevishly, feeling his face tighten in annoyance. _Is it my fault she's too dumb to get out of the rain? What the hell does she want - an engraved invitation?_

The redhead's tentative voice quelled the rest of his internal griping.

"Look, I appreciate..."

_Yeah, yeah...thank me all you want, just get in the damn car_, he told her with mute exasperation when she hesitated, more than ready to put the whole sorry mess of a night behind him and be on his way.

"I'll be fine on my own."

_Blah, blah, stuff the gratitude and just... Wait - **what** did she say?_ The unexpected response caught him off guard.

Surprised disbelief, preventing him from either speaking or moving, held him in thrall for the barest of seconds - and just long enough for Jean to get the wrong impression. A mistake realized when he turned, words to rectify the situation parting his lips, only see that she'd already begun moving away.

His eyes narrowed with the first angry thought that came to mind at her dismissal. _Well fuck her, then. If that's the way she wants it..._

Tires spun, the engine growled, and the still-open passenger door squeaked and flapped as Lance turned the jeep towards home, the revised direction bringing Jean into his sights once again. He paused before leaning over to pull the door shut, watching her for a moment, trying to lighten his black mood with thoughts of how miserable - how _sorry_ - she'd be when he was gone...until he saw her stumble.

It was the slightest of falters, one to be expected in such sodden conditions, but it served to remind him that she had a long walk ahead of her, one that could hold any number of not-so-pleasant happenings along the way. It was a reluctant, yet sobering, realization, and before he could counter it, it overwhelmed his snide notions and set him to cursing all over again.

He pulled back into his own seat, ignoring the open side door, and floored the gas pedal, grumbling all the while. "I've gotta be the biggest fucking idiot...need my head examined...don't know why I should even _give_ a rat's ass about her stupid, stuck-up, stubborn..._**Hey**_!" he called out through that unclosed door when the jeep had pulled alongside her.

Jean, as expected, paused and turned at his shout. Lance gestured to her sharply, encouraging her to close the small distance between them. When she did, watching him with wary curiosity, he gritted his teeth and steeled himself for a graceful surrender

"Would you...do you need..." Grace fled and his tongue tangled under her gaze. He sighed in annoyance. "Just...get in."

He could see her eyes widen slightly at the gruff, half-hearted command, could practically feel them moving over his face as if searching for something, and again, at the first sparking of discomfiting emotion their phantom touch elicited, he looked away, waiting for her response.

But nothing was said, nor was any further advancement made, and suddenly he wondered if perhaps _he'd_ been the one to get the wrong impression.

_Thinks she's too good...too good even to ride with someone like you..._ whispered darkly in his head, that bitter inner voice and all the memories it conjured twisting his lips.

Memories of Kitty calling his worth - or lack thereof - into question just before cutting him loose. Pained, his eyes screwed shut against the unwelcome reminder, and strangely, when presented with the possibility of Jean sharing in his ex's opinion of him, a sense of faint disappointment.

_Why so surprised?_ That subconscious hissing continued mockingly as Lance's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. _You're a loser. Kitty knows it, her rich Institute friends know it, people at school know it - **everyone** knows it. Why should Jean be any different?_

The seat next to him squeaked softly under new weight, followed by the loud clang of a door slamming home, both sounds interrupting his bleak musings. Startled, Lance opened his eyes and glanced over at the passenger's side - only to be taken aback by what his brain had nearly convinced him he wouldn't see.

Jean, dripping wet and chafing her upper arms for warmth, was beside him, the dark fan of her water-spiked lashes nearly, but not quite, hiding the apprehensive light in her shadowed green eyes. Surprised and unable to do otherwise, Lance stared at her - at those lashes, rising and falling like nervous butterfly wings - and felt that earlier warmth return to gnaw at his stomach with renewed gusto until Jean shifted and looked away, huddling deeper into her seat.

Her movement recalled him back to himself and to the task at hand. Without further ado, he put the jeep into gear.

As it started coasting down the road towards home once again, Lance gave himself a mental shake to clear a head full of unsettling thoughts, and all but one obeyed - a previous, now plaintive, question that had yet to be answered.

_What the hell is **happening** to me?_

That a glib explanation still eluded him was vaguely distressing - that he couldn't understand why, even more so. But that _Jean_ seemed to be the reason for his confusion...

Lance shook his head at that last notion and firmly pushed it away before it could be explored.

Unwilling to admit, even to himself, that there was something about the telepath that disturbed him most of all.


End file.
